


Ghosthunting in New Jersey

by fictionalaspect



Series: Unfinished, Abandoned, Snippets, Bits and Pieces [8]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>bb!MCR goes ghosthunting. Abandoned when I realized it actually required a scary plot, and I couldn't think of one. This is seriously at least five years old, but I still think it's kind of funny. Also, Jersey kids have a weird obsession with ghost hunting in general. I know I did. I'm pretty sure this might accidentally be canon.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ghosthunting in New Jersey

**Author's Note:**

> bb!MCR goes ghosthunting. Abandoned when I realized it actually required a scary plot, and I couldn't think of one. This is seriously at least five years old, but I still think it's kind of funny. Also, Jersey kids have a weird obsession with ghost hunting in general. I know I did. I'm pretty sure this might accidentally be canon.

The problem with Jersey diners is that you get there, okay, you get there and it's awesome because even though there is one every 500 feet you're still somehow starving and then there is one up ahead, victory! and then you sit down and the waitress pours you coffee even though you didn't ask for any, and then she hands you the menu. THE MENU.

Frank feels diner menus should come with a warning label.

"Fuck, I can't—why are these things always so huge?" Frank tries not to bounce in the small booth, because Mikey's texting next to him, pointy elbows dangerously close to Frank's internal organs. "I'm always starving and then I can't decide for shit because they have six million options. Seriously, there's eight pages in here. Eight _pages_ of food."

Gerard carefully tips half a creamer into his shitty diner coffee. Frank doesn't know why he bothers, because it's going to taste like ass either way. "No, I have a theory."

"We know," Mikey says, not looking up from his phone.

" _Frank_ doesn't know," Gerard points out earnestly, as if Frank's life will suddenly be divinely illuminated by Gerard's opinions on diner food. "See, it's like, if you look at all the optionsthey all share the same ingredients. They just buy staples in bulk and make everything the same way, then add like one thing, like oooh, now it has bacon, it's a totally different sandwich! And then put it on the menu with new descriptions. So it doesn't matter what you order, it's all the same shit essentially." Gerard lights a cigarette with a flourish, dragging the ashtray over to his side of the table.

"That's fucking deep," Frank says, impressed. "But you're not going to convince me that nachos and pancakes are the same thing. Because that's my quandry, here. Or oooh, shit, Taylor Ham and egg and cheese on a roll. That— _yes_. Motherfucking yes." Frank stabs a finger down at the menu with elation.

"You always get the same thing, I'm kind of failing to see the issue here." Mikey finally puts his phone down and opens the diner menu, shoving his glasses up on his nose. Mikey always gets the same thing too—eggs over easy, white toast, hash browns, side of sausage, a large coke. Frank could order it with his eyes closed. Mikey is a dirty scoundrel for making fun of Frank, who does _not_ always order the same thing. Frank is a man of the world with varied and refined tastes. It's not his fault breakfast sandwiches are so delicious.

Their waitress has curly blond hair pulled up in a fabric scrunchy, and a faded tattoo peeking out of her uniform top on her left bicep. Gerard orders more coffee ("I think she knows, Gerard") and blueberry pancakes and a large glass of milk ("What are you, six?" "Shut up, Frank, it's good for you. It might help you _grow._ ") Mikey orders his usual. Frank orders Taylor ham and egg and cheese on a roll, cheddar cheese and eggs over medium, **two** slices of cheese, please ma'am.

"And," he says, preparing to drop his trump card. " _And_ mozzarella sticks. Please."

"Oh shit," Mikey says. He looks mildly impressed. "I think Frank just leveled up."

"Level 10 Diner Mastery," Frank agrees. "Also, this might be our last meal, I need fucking mozzarella sticks."

Gerard stubs his cigarette out and accepts a refill from the waitress while they wait for their food. He rubs his hands together intently. His expression is just slightly on the disturbing side. "We should go over our game plan."

"No," Mikey says. "We should do it in the car."

"But then i'll be driving, we need everyone to concentrate and be aware and shit—"

Mikey turns to Frank, tilting his head just a fraction towards the policeman seated at the far end of the diner counter, hitting on the waitress. Gerard's back is to the cop, so he's unaware of their casually-disinterested audience.

"Gerard," Frank says, lowering his voice and leaning across the table. " _Let's do it in the car._ " He waggles his eyebrows and does everything short of saying _behind you, dumbass._ Frank's pretty sure outlining their grand plan to break and enter into private property for the express purposes of paranormal investigation is not something the Essex County PD needs to be made aware of.

"Um," the waitress says awkwardly. She's standing next to the table with their steaming plates balanced in one hand. "Do you guys need a moment?"

Frank sits up very suddenly and gives their waitress his best _who, me?_ smile. "No! no, hey, thanks for the food," he says, reaching out a hand to guide his plate down.

"Thanks for the food?" Mikey says after she leaves. "Did you seriously say _thanks for the food?_ It's a diner. I'm pretty sure that's their main occupation."

"Shut up, I was off my game," Frank grumbles, reaching over and snagging the ketchup. "Whatever, she likes me. I can tell."

"She likes your _face,_ " Mikey mumbles through a mouthful of hash browns.

"You know that's not actually an insult, right?"

"Bite me."

*

Frank smokes too many cigarettes during the rest of the drive, despite the fact that Cedar Grove is only about twenty minutes away. The heat is sporadic and temperamental in Gerard's old rusty Grand Am but it's still pretty nice out, for October, and it's not too much of a hardship to keep the windows down so they can all smoke. Frank's already broken out his glow-in-the-dark skeleton fingerless gloves, but that's mostly because he a) is planning to freak Mikey out with them once they're inside and b) they have that grippy stuff on the palms, so they're useful for making quick getaways. Especially quick getaways that involve jumping fences to get away from cops. Frank could have been a boy scout, he's so prepared.

"...so they're saying that conservative estimates are that ten thousand people died there, over the years," Gerard is saying, over the low-fi hiss of the tape deck. "The craziest shit went down there, it was all like criminals and people who had no place else to go, plus a lot of guys who were actually insane. Some dude ripped his own face off, and there's some other story about a guy who ate his own bed."

"The mattress?" Mikey says, raising an eyebrow.

"No, the whole bed." Gerard shakes his head. "Like the frame, everything." His eyes are large and solemn in his face.

"Wow," Frank says, impressed. "I wonder how long it took him to gnaw it down. I bet he never had fiber problems."

Mikey snickers. "Frank, you're such a lameass—Wait, wait, Gee slow down—this right here, this is it," Mikey says, pointing to a road leading off into the trees. "We should just park near these houses and walk, is what my friend said. It's less suspicious."

Frank hadn't actually really known what the plan was for tonight, other than that Mikey had a friend who knew a friend who had a brother who was going to get them into a place that was supposed to be seriously fucking creepy. On the way he'd found out (far away from the prying ears of the cop at the diner) that not only was this place creepy, it was a former mental hospital and supposedly really fucking haunted _._ Frank was psyched.

Also, Mikey's friend's friend's brother was working security tonight and was planning on leaving a back gate unlocked, "by accident," and they should slip in through there and then enter through the front of the main building. ("There's cameras," Mikey had said, grinning toothily, "but the front entrance ones are going to suspiciously _malfunction_ at 12:30 am for about half an hour. If he sees us, though, he's gotta call the cops, so we need to be extra stealthy."

"I'm totally stealthy," Frank said. "Stealthy like a cat."

"You're mom's stealthy."

"Your listening comprehension sucks." Gerard pointed out. "That's still not an insult, Mikey."

"Your mom's not an insult."

"You mean...our mom?"

"Bite me.")

Gerard puts the car in park in front of an empty house and set the emergency brake, then turned to face the backseat. "Gear check," he said. "Frank, you first."

Frank rolls his eyes but grabbed his army-navy bag, pulling out various items and holding them up to Gerard for inspection. "Shitty-ass camera because my mom won't buy me a digital one. Sharpies. Extra batteries and film. Gloves with the grippy stuff on them."

"Okay," Gerard said, apparently satisfied. "Mikey?"

Mikey digs wordlessly in his jeans and several pocket-size flashlights appear out of nowhere. He holds them up for Gerard's inspection and then lifts the mag-light off the floor of the front seat. "And my cell phone," Mikey says, "in case you get eaten by an angry ghost and I have to call the police for help."

"If Gerard gets eaten I am out of there," Frank says. "So fast. You won't even see me leaving, i'll just be gone."

"We wouldn't be able to see you anyway," Mikey points out. "It's pitch dark out and you're wearing all black."

"Right," Gerard says. "And I've got the car keys and my EMF reader. We're set."

"That is _not_ an EMF reader," Frank says, for the eighth time. Frank has had severe doubts about its authenticity ever since Gerard bought it off ebay last week for the low, low price of 29.99.

"Shut up Frank, it says EMF is _right here_ ," Gerard says, stabbing a finger at the side of the device.

"Yeah, in Sharpie," Frank snipes back. "I swear to god, I told you, that's just a pager that someone programmed to show random numbers—"

"Guys," Mikey mumbles, squinting at his phone, "Guys, it's 12:15, we need to book it if we're going to get inside."

"Right," Gerard says again. "Okay, Team Awesome, let's go."

"I still say we should have been Team Don't Get Arrested," Mikey calls out as he slams the car door and hurries after Frank and Gerard. "I liked having a name we could live up to."

*

A little known-fact about Northern New Jersey is that despite the aces of subdivisions and highways and motels and gas stations and shitty nightclubs in chain hotels, there's actually a lot of woods and trees and nature. It's just hidden in these strange clumps _behind_ those things, so that once you get off the highway it's really not too hard to go from 'hey, there's a tree,' to 'jesus, that's a fuckton of trees, and I think that was a bear, and oh god, where's the map.'

Frank's pretty sure they're at the "where's the map" stage, but he's not going to be the one to pussy out. It would have been nice, though, if he could see where he was stepping, and maybe where the poison ivy is, and maybe if Gerard wouldn't stop letting go of tree branches so they whip back and catch Frank in the face. (There's no chance that there **isn't** poison ivy. It's New Jersey. The state, as an entity, enjoys fucking with people and Frank feels certain this extends to her flora and fauna.)

"Mikey," Frank hisses. "Mikey, I thought you knew where we were going."

"I pretty much do," Mikey says, shoving a tangle of vines out of the way. "Mostly, I mean. In a general sort of way." Mikey looks blissfully unconcerned about the fact that they've been walking for at least twenty minutes, in almost pitch darkness, through heavy underbrush, towards an abandoned mental hospital. Mikey is a certain sort of special.

"One of these days, Mikeyway," Frank says, trailing behind him and Gerard, voice pitched to a carrying whisper. "One of these days you're going to say that and fall in a hole and die and then see if I let you lead next time."

"That's what cell phones are for," Mikey says, turning back to wait for Frank. The barest hint of moonlight glints on his glasses. "I would just call someone and be like, hi, get me out of this hole."

"Not if you were _dead_."

"You don't die from falling in a hole. I mean, if there's like, zombies at the bottom of the hole, or killer muskrats or something you do, but _just_ falling in a hole doesn't kill you." Mikey comes to a stop suddenly, then makes a definite left. Gerard and Frank follow, scrambling over a low, overgrown stone wall.

"What if it was a really deep hole," Frank argues back. "filled with killer muskrats. With lots of sharp teeth. _Vampire_ killer muskrats. You would totally die."

"I don't think—" Gerard says, but he's drowned out by the sound of Mikey stage-whispering "found it!" Frank looks up and Mikey's fiddling with a padlock that's holding a barbed-wire fence loosely together. It's overgrown, almost part of the trees and the undergrowth, but it's definitely there and there's definitely a clear path leading away from the gate on the other side of the fence. Frank can see a looming building in the distance and the adrenaline hits him, sudden and hard. _People died here,_ he thinks suddenly, and it's weird how knowing that and experiencing it are two totally separate things.

"I take it back," Frank says reverently. "Don't die in a hole, Mikey, this is fucking awesome. Holy _shit_ , will you look at the size of this place." Frank peers through the fence and he can see multiple buildings in the distance, most at the same stage of casual neglect, but some shading their way into abandonment.

"I told you," Mikey says mildly. "Okay, we're in." He pushes the gate open a foot, just enough for them to slide through, and gestures for Gerard to go first. Gerard shoves his hair behind his ears and steps forward, eyes darting back and forth, measuring the distances. "Just stay in the shadows and follow me," he stage whispers out of the corner of his mouth, then proceeds to creep awkwardly towards the main building.

Frank follows after Mikey. He can feel a snicker rising up that he has to physically repress, because Mikey's idea of "stealthy" is apparently just hunching his shoulders and shuffling forward and it's funny as shit. Frank really wants to call him out on being a dumbass, but. This the most delicate part of the operation and Frank's not enough of a spaz that he's going to ruin it just to tease Mikey.

They skulk along, sticking to dark corners and shadows and jesus, this building is _huge._ It looks vaguely Victorian in style, lots of eaves and crumbling singles and windows. Frank tries to peer inside one, but the window is so smudged and dirty that it's a lost cause. Besides, it's pitch black inside anyway. Frank isn't sure what he expected to see—dead bodies? ghosts?—but there's nothing besides dirty glass under his fingers.

Mikey pauses at the outside corner and holds up a hand, pulling out his phone to check the time. There's a lone streetlight directly in front of the entrance with a security camera attached to the pole. Mikey's silhouetted against the back-light spilling around the corner, pale incandescent light glinting off his glasses and cheekbones. "We're good," he stage whispers, "Frank, you go first."

"What—why me?"

"You're small," Gerard points out. "And fast. If we see you come running we'll know we're fucked."

"Mercenaries," Frank mumbles under his breath.

"Yup," Mikey says. "Now go, we're wasting time." He gives a little shove at Frank's shoulder. "Kay," Frank mumbles back, and tears around the corner. The light is almost blinding but he doesn't have time to let his eyes adjust—-he just keeps his head down and sprints to the front door. He can see how it's hanging a little bit open, darkness yawning behind, and he's pretty sure all he'll need to do is run up the front steps and lean on it to get inside. His breath wheezes in his lungs but then he's up the creaky stairs, one-two-three-four steps. His footsteps are fucking loud and Frank feels a moment of real, actual panic right before he gets through the door and leans up against the wall, listening carefully, trying not to breath.

He counts to five—-then ten—but there's only silence, no flashing lights or alarms or calls of "Who's there?". and Frank sags against the wall in relief. His heart is still pounding when he hears the thudding of footsteps on the steps and Mikey pushes past him, followed by Gerard.

"Nice of you to drop in," Frank smirks. Gerard nods, breathing hard. In the light from the doorway Frank can see how Mikey's stupid faux-haux is all messed up. He's got a leaf stuck in the front, and what looks like a twig near the back. Frank wants to stick his hand in it and muss it all up and then he kind of wants Mikey to bat his hand away and give him that weird toothy grin and then spend twenty minutes getting it to stick up just right, but they're in a haunted motherfucking house and Frank's pretty sure he can just mess up Mikey's hair when they get home. If they get home. Alive.

"Wow," Mikey says, switching on the mag-light. He pushes his glasses up on his nose, blinking. They're in a small foyer that leads into a huge room, the ceiling so far overhead that the weak light does nothing to illuminate it. There's dust and plaster everywhere, floating in the beam and layered thick upon every surface. The rest of the floor is covered with the detritus that seems to accumulate in every abandoned structure, old boards and paint cans and broken pieces of metal. There's nothing that screams "mental hospital" in this room, although there's something like looks a little like a trolley way in the back.

It's still creepy as fuck.

"This is some scary-ass shit," Frank says firmly. "I want to go exploring, do you think we can get up to the second level?"

"Wait," Gerard says, digging in Frank's bag. "I need my EMF reader and the camera, c'mon, we need to record this shit for posterity."

Mikey nods. "We should scan the pictures after we get them developed. I want to put them on that message board."

"Shut up," Frank says, rolling his eyes. "You don't know anyone who owns a scanner _,_ that shit only exists on Law and Order."

"The library, duh," Mikey says. "Dumbass."

"Whatever," Frank says. The only cool thing about the Belleville town library is their record collection. Frank makes a point of avoiding it whenever possible unless Frank and/or Gerard drags him there to use the free internet on the computers. Frank seriously doesn't understand what the big deal is. Okay, sure, it's kind of cool that you can apparently talk to people all over the world, but Frank doesn't even know what he would talk _about_. It's not like some kid in Malaysia is going to share Frank's excitement about the newest hardcore band from Kearny.

"Holy shit," Frank says approvingly, when they walk into the next room. There's a gurnery in the middle of it, old and sagging in the center. "Gerard, get on the gurney, come on, I want to take a picture."

"I'm not getting on the gurney," Gerard says. "What if someone died on it?"

"Pussy," Frank says, disapprovingly. "Suck it up and deal."

"We're supposed to be taking pictures for _science_ ," Gerard says. "Paranormal _research_."

"Science, my ass, get on the gurney," Frank says. Gerard makes a disapproving noise and walks over to it. "It's not safe," Gerard says, poking at it. "What if it collapses?"

Frank sighs. "Mikey?" he says plaintively. Mikey shrugs, and lays down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What the fuck, dude, you're not a vampire," Frank says, snickering and snapping away.

"Maybe I am," Mikey says, kicking his foot against the bottom railing. It makes a hollow, clanging sound. "You don't know."

"Gerard's the vampire," Frank says. "He's the one who lives in a basement."

"I wish," Gerard says sadly.


End file.
